Delusions
by cataclysmically starry-minded
Summary: Take your average Snape-goes-to-rescue-Harry story, mix in an insane Harry, an evil Voldemort, and a tortured Snape. Put it in the oven for three minutes and you have this. (revised for OotP)
1. Chapter One

Delusions

I don't own Harry Potter

A/N: This thing is weird. 

~

A door. Open it. A bare yew tree swaying in the biting wind. Signifies death. Silence so deep, it's almost tangible. No colors, devoid of life. Only death, only death. All alone, all alone. No one to help me, no one to help me. Shrieking, animalistic screaming. Where's it coming from? All around me, in front, behind, to the right, to the left. It wants me. What's It? I don't know, they don't know. Getting louder now. Not much time left. Flashes of black. Growling.

_Over._

With a startled gasp, a young boy sits up in his bed, clutching the comforter tightly in his white-knuckled fist. His black hair falls messily into his eyes, and he tries to brush it away, yet it stays in the same unkempt pattern. "Not again," he mutters, looking wildly around as he tries to calm his breathing, "What does it mean?" He looks out the paned window briefly, and if one were to look into his eyes at that moment, an insane glint might be seen, a possible effect of the glaring moon. But it passes quickly, and his gaze becomes sort of—defeated, maybe? He shivers slightly, even though the air is humid. Perspiration is cooling on his face, but he doesn't attempt to return to the confines of sleep. Instead, he pulls the sheets around him, shaking ever so slightly. He still breathes in short, ragged gasps. 

"Just a dream, just a dream," he murmurs consolingly with a slight manic tone, and his eyes keep darting to the walls. He draws himself into a ball, holding his neck up. An odd sort of twitching takes place. "Helphelphelphelphelphelphelphelp," he chants without taking a breath. "Takingmetakingmetakingmetakingmetakingme." He's talking louder now. Something's happening, and it's not normal. High pitched laughter streams from his mouth, and he opens his lips as far as they will go, the sound now almost inhumanly loud. A grunted 'huh?' from the next room is barely heard, yet the boy quiets immediately. He sprawls onto the sagging mattress, still convulsing, and faint whinnies of breath escapes his red lips at measured intervals. Slowly, he curls into the fetal position, and is still. 

* * * 

Vernon Dursley never liked missing out on precious hours of sleep, so he was not happy when some weird noise awoke him from the _abnormal_ boy's bedroom. "What's that?" his wife, Petunia, whispered groggily. Vernon grunted in reply, and swung his meaty legs over the side of the king bed, kicking the covers off. He stood up and crossed the room, angrily opening the door. If the boy was doing this for fun, he wouldn't see the outside of the cupboard for a month. Expecting the door to be locked, Vernon made a confused little sound when the doorknob turned easily in his hand. He entered the tiny room, scanning it with his piggy eyes. He flicked the light on.

"Just what do you think you're doing?" he growled, stomping over to the bed. "D'you know what time it is?" He got no response, and this did not bode with his sleep-deprived manner. "Answer me when I talk to you, boy!" Vernon scowled at the boy's back; he was turned towards the wall. The exclamation, however, didn't elicit a response either. Narrowing his eyes, Vernon roughly turned the boy over, pulling him up to eye level… before dropping him like a stone. A terrified gasp escaped his throat. 

The boy's face, which had been normal just the day before, was grotesque. His eyes were open, but unseeing—the only thing visible was the white of the eye. The mouth was bared into a grin, showing all the teeth. Eight slight, bleeding wounds, four for each side of the face, were scratched onto the cheeks, apparently with his fingernails. Vernon stared into the face of his nephew for a moment that took up an eternity. He didn't notice that the boy's fingers were slightly moving, and he would've stayed in the same position—had not his nephew's hand shot out, gripping Vernon's forearm. The boy sat up jerkily, and Vernon began to tremble in drunken terror. 

           Without saying anything, he pulled Vernon's arm down forcefully, until they were eye-to-eye. The boy's eyes became visible again, but the bright green had been replaced with a blood red that showed no white. Suddenly, as soon as it had begun, the boy fell limply onto the bed again. 

Vernon got out of there as quickly as he could.

* * *

'_Not answering our letters…worried…don't know what's wrong…do you?_' Albus Dumbledore pushed his half-moon glasses up the bridge of his nose, sighing anxiously. Miss Granger's letter worried him more than he cared to say. It wasn't like Harry to purposely ignore letters addressed to him—if anything, Harry would pretend everything was okay. He figured that the smart thing to do would be to write to Harry himself, yet he had a hunch that something was dreadfully wrong. And, Dumbledore had discovered over the years that his hunches were usually right. The problem, however, was that he could not leave Hogwarts at the present time. New protection spells were being added, ones that hadn't been used since Voldemort's downfall, fifteen years prior. The spells would weaken if not taken to completion. A dilemma was rising, for the only person left in the building was Snape, and everyone knew that Severus hated the boy. 

Still, the growing knot of nervousness had settled into Dumbledore's stomach. After pondering for a few moments while pacing the length of his office, Albus exited through the archway and descended into the dungeons. He paused for a moment and then rapped sharply on the potion master's door, knowing that Snape would be awake, even at such a late hour. Severus pulled the door open. "Headmaster," he said by way of greeting. He had been in the castle since his latest work with the Order, preferring to stay in the safe confines of the castle rather than to return to his home. Voldemort wanted Snape's blood almost as much as he desired Harry's and predictably would kill him if Snape dared to return to his house. 

"I need you to do a favor for me, Severus," he said slowly. 

"Yes?" Snape's face was apprehensive. 

"I believe that something is amiss with Harry—"

"Potter?" Snape interrupted, hatred dawning on his face. 

"Yes, and I need you to check it out."

"He's probably just causing trouble," Severus snarled. 

"We cannot be sure, Severus."

"Isn't there anyone else?"

"All the regular staff has gone home for the summer, besides you, and Hagrid is not able to Apparate. I fear we cannot wait for him to fly to Little Whinging. Please, Severus." It was Dumbledore's expression, more than anything thing said, that convinced Severus of the seriousness of the situation. The thought of trying to help Potter was repugnant, yet Dumbledore had aided Severus when no one else would've dared. Severus knew he owed the headmaster many favors. Biting back the 'no' that had settled on his tongue, Snape nodded curtly, grudgingly, wearing a scowl so deep it looked as though it had been crudely chiseled into the pallid skin.

His eyes portraying a violent mixture of worry, Dumbledore reached inside his resplendent velvet dressing gown and pulled out a minimized mirror—a communications devide. "Contact me with news," he said simply as he offered the two-way mirror. "Harry lives at Number Four, Privet Drive."  Snape nodded again, retreated to his quarters without another word, and came out three minutes later wearing simple Muggle clothing. He navigated his way through the Hogwarts hallways and exited into Hogsmeade. Focusing on a mental picture of Potter, Snape disappeared with a loud _snap_ reappearing on the silent street of Privet Drive. Walking briskly up the drive, Snape stopped at the polished wood door and rapped smartly with his knuckles. He was fully expecting to have to knock louder in order to rouse the inhabitants of the house and therefore was surprised when the door opened almost immediately. A large man stared at Snape with terrified, piggy eyes. 

"Are you one of them?" the beefy man at the door asked and looked in realization at Severus's wand, which was sticking out of the pocket. "Get him out of here!" the man said urgently, moving aside. Snape looked confusedly at the man before he walked inside.

The man led him up the stairs, trembling, and gestured towards a door. He then backed into a room, and Snape caught a glimpse of a woman and a fat teenager before the door slammed. Snape opened the door of the bedroom, and saw Potter sitting up in bed, his back to the door. 

"What are you doing?" Snape asked, annoyed at having to leave for something as stupid as this seemed. Potter turned around quickly, and Snape would've fallen backwards in shock if the door hadn't closed with a bang. 

With a horrific smile, Potter looked into Snape's eyes with his red ones. "_So you've come, traitor_," he said maliciously. A strong ripple of energy caught Snape off guard and was knocked off his feet, hitting his head on a wardrobe corner when he connected with the floor.

~

End of chapter


	2. Chapter Two

Delusions: Chapter Two

I do not own Harry Potter. 

A/n: I was honestly not expecting any positive feedback at all, so the reviews I received were a pleasant surprise. I have decided to continue this, but I might not work on it a lot. It may end up being after the fifth book, so I'm going to try and not mention any time period in this chapter. And I'd like to keep it faithful to the book, which means I may not be too detailed until after I read Order of the Phoenix (which is ten days away, so it's not that bad).

* * *

_It's on top of me, now, snapping its teeth, its yellow, decaying teeth, breathing its foul breath into my face, breath that smells like rotting, maggot-filled meat. Meat that may soon be me. Still don't know what It is, just know that it's not going to leave me unscathed. Oddly, I'm not terrified anymore. This feeling—the only way I can describe it is acceptance. I accept this thought, and leave myself. And it becomes apparent what It is after all. I'm It. _

_ And it does not bother me in the slightest. _

* * *

Snape groaned as he tried to sit up, feeling as though the Hogwarts Express had just plowed him over. His thoughts were muddled, and he couldn't truthfully say that he remembered exactly what happened—until it hit. Potter. A slight chill of foreboding crawled up Snape's spine as he recalled those malicious scarlet eyes, narrowed in anger. The power that Potter had so quickly called upon, the startling changes in appearance, and the hissing, snake-like voice—every clue pointed in the Dark Lord's direction. Preventive measures had to be taken, obviously, but Snape could not think of a plan that could possibly help in such a situation. As his surroundings focused, Snape glanced around, noticing one startling thing. Potter was no longer there. Panic began to pulse in Snape's stomach. The ratty coverings to the small bed were tattered on the floor, and the door to the bedroom had been shattered into splinters of wood. 

            Instinctively, Snape reached inside for the soothing smoothness of his ebony wand. One problem—it was missing. Having just hauled himself to his feet, fear finally began to permeate his mind. He was without protection in an unfamiliar world, faced with a looming problem. Digging into his pockets insistently, though he knew they were empty, he staggered to the decimated door. His head throbbed harder as he entered the hall, and he paused long enough to take a small vial out of a zippered pocket, a clarity potion for minor health emergencies. After drinking the bitter liquid in one forced gulp he felt his headache ebb into a slight pain behind his eyes. His senses sharpened, and his nose, trained from years of working with potent potions, picked up the overwhelming stench of blood, wafting from a room down the hall. 

Continuing down the hall, the coppery smell strengthening, he noticed shards of something on the ground. He leaned over and examined the pieces. The covering to a framed picture of a rotund, blond boy had been shattered. The tiniest drop of blood was evident on one sliver. He rose again; now noticing that the door he was standing in front of was missing its doorknob. Cautiously, he pushed the door open, and a scrawny woman inside started. She whirled around and her tear-filled eyes narrowed in fury. She seized a handful of objects from a bedside table. "Get out!" she shrieked in a piercing voice, "Get out, get out, GET OUT!" An alarm clock whizzed past Snape's ear and hit the wall with a dull _thunk_. She kept throwing things while still screaming, but fortunately her aim was poor. 

"SHUT UP!" Snape roared, his headache augmenting again. She recoiled in fear, and Snape's annoyance dissipated into nothing. He then found out why the Muggle woman had reacted so strongly. Lying on the bed, breathing raggedly, was the man who had escorted him inside. The comforter was soaked in blood, two scarlet stains by his arms. Something had sliced the man's arms open, exposing the inside meat. Blood was steadily streaming from the wounds. The woman was still staring at Snape, the flesh on her palms ripped into ribbons. The boy behind her was on the floor, his hands sprawled behind him, his face twisted into a mask of agony. A long piece of glass had punctured his foot and by the looks of it, had entered the carpet.

"Have you come to finish us off?" the woman asked in a cross between anguish and vehemence, her hands shaking. 

"_Bloody hell_," Snape swore, before leaving in a rush. He had no healing potions—it would be best to contact Dumbledore. He descended the stairs in a rush, swearing again when he saw that the door had disappeared. An owl was sitting on the floor, looking perturbed, a letter in its mouth. He ignored it, seeing the Ministry emblem inscribed on the envelope. His mind was racing as he pulled out his two way mirror. "Albus Dumbledore," he said clearly into the mirror, his heart beating in a mixture of fear and adrenaline.   

* * *

Though he had been staring at the mirror on his desk, lost in worried thought, he had not expected to see Severus's face to appear. He picked it up, knowing immediately that something was wrong by the look on Severus's face. "What is it?" he asked in a low voice.

"You need to get a Healer over here _immediately_," Snape snarled, "Potter isn't sane, and he's injured his relatives and escaped outside. Something is wrong with him; he is talking oddly and has red eyes.

"_What_? No—this isn't…" Dumbledore didn't explain his weird exclamation.     

"I'm going to go look for him. He's dangerous to anyone around him." Dumbledore made to say something, but Snape had already ended the conversation by shrinking the mirror and stuffing it back into an inner pocket.

* * * 

End of chapter

A/N: Nothing to say. 


	3. Chapter Three

Delusions: Chapter Three

I don't own Harry Potter, nor am I receiving any profit off this.

A/N: Yeah… This took a long time… Sorry! Thank you all for your wonderful reviews!

~

Prowling, running, attempting to satisfy the urge. The scent of blood tantalizingly grips my nostrils. I want to taste it, to rip something into a deliciously bloody pile. Maybe then, possibly, the cravings will lessen. Want it. NEED IT. Stomach gnawing. Feelings intensify. Someone there. FOOD!! 

~

            Snape hurtled out the door, hoping he didn't attract Muggle attention. He was dressed as an ordinary non-magical person, but it was quite odd to see someone running along the street at one in the morning. He couldn't afford to be stopped by a Muggle; Potter had already gained considerable distance, seeing as how Snape had been unconscious for about thirty-five minutes, He had just reached the end of Privet Drive when he noticed something gleaming in the street lamp's light glow. He bent down to examine it quickly, dread overcoming his senses. Potter had snapped his wand in half. He was now completely, assuredly without help. For a moment, he considered returning and waiting for other equipped wizards, but time was running rapidly. Trusting his instincts, he continued through the interconnecting streets by monitoring the slight bursts of magical energy Potter was unknowingly releasing. That was another thing to be thankful for: at least he didn't need his wand to determine such things as this. If would've been a terrible pain trying to track Potter down with such limited knowledge on his whereabouts. Snape had a strong suspicion that the Dark Lord had something to do with Potter's recently gained insanity and he had the feeling that Potter was heading towards Death Eaters at that very moment. Now, that was something to avoid at all costs. Dumbledore had always made it clear that Potter had something he needed to do about Voldemort, but the Headmaster was always annoyingly vague on the details. No matter. The important thing was to get Potter before unthinkable things happened. Wizards already feared the Dark Lord; they would go into a panic if they found out that a dangerously insane Harry Potter had joined the ranks of Death Eaters.

            Snape wondered how long the two of them could keep the pace they were going at. On one hand, he had an excess of energy due to the potion he had taken in Potter's house, while Potter was running on stored reserves only. But with magical aid, that may matter very little. Snape noticed he was gaining slowly on the teenager, but things weren't going anywhere fast with the pace they were keeping. Snape knew he would not be able to accurately Apparate with Potter moving as he was but did wonder why the boy hadn't grabbed his broom at least. Was his sanity that far gone? And was there something Dumbledore knew but hadn't told him. Ignoring the slight protest coming from his legs, Snape continued onward, questions bubbling impatiently in his head.                    

~

            Dumbledore had immediately reached Poppy Pomfrey through the fire when Snape had stopped their conversation quite abruptly. He was grateful that Poppy had agreed on such short notice, for he knew a request for a Healer from Saint Mungo's would have been suspicious, to say the least. Cornelius had finally seen the truth, and Dumbledore couldn't afford to alienate the Ministry again with Voldemort coming out of hiding. That was fifteen minutes ago, and Poppy still hadn't contacted him. Dumbledore was feeling a rare burst of impatience, for he was quite sure he knew what was going on but couldn't leave the castle to do anything about it. He needed someone to go to Grimmauld Place and explain the circumstances in detail; things were far to complex to use floo powder. Yes, it needed to be in person, and the wards beings put around the castle would be weak if he left in this part of the process. Finally—finally he heard Poppy's voice say, "Professor Dumbledore?"

            Dumbledore whirled around and strode towards his desk. Hovering over one of the two mirrors, he asked, "News?" 

            "I put them all under a sleeping draft, but there's nothing I can do without the proper medicine. I'll need to bring them to Hogwarts, but I don't know if they'll approve."

            "It doesn't matter—they will be much safer here."

            Poppy's face changed into a confused look. "Muggles in Hogwarts—odd, if I do say so myself… But how will I get them here? Their house isn't connected to the Floo network.

            "I'll send a portkey."

            "That might take some time, Headmaster."

            "Not if I send a house elf."        

"I'm waiting." She ended the transmission, and Dumbledore summoned Dobby to his office. The little elf appeared two minutes later, looking both slightly apprehensive and elated. 

"Professor Dumbledore wanted Dobby?"

"Yes, Dobby, I have something important for you to do." Dobby's eyes lit up.

"Anything for Professor Dumbledore, sir!"

"I need you to go to Number Four, Privet Drive, Dobby, and give this to Madame Pomfrey. Harry is in trouble."

"Harry Potter is in trouble, sir?!" 

"I believe so, yes. I need your help with this." 

"Dobby will do it!" The elf extended his hand and Dumbledore gave him an empty vial that had already been turned into a portkey. Closing his fingers around it, Dobby left with a _crack_! Dumbledore pinched some powder from the firepot on his mantle and threw it into the fireplace, watching the flames turn green. 

"Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place," he said while kneeling, entering his head into the flames immediately. He could see someone sitting at the kitchen table with his back to Dumbledore. Something to be grateful for—Remus was an insomniac.

            "Remus," Dumbledore said, watching Lupin's back jump in surprise. He waited until Remus was eye level before saying shortly, "I need to talk to you. Can you come to Hogwarts immediately?"

            "Of course," Remus replied confusedly. Albus got out of the fire and quickly stepped back; moments later, Lupin had flown out of the fireplace.

            "Sit down," said Albus distractedly by way of greeting.

            "What's wrong?"

            "You haven't heard from Harry lately, have you?"

            "Not for about two weeks when he owled us saying that he was sure the Dursleys would be civil and correspondence wouldn't be necessary twice a week."

            "He hasn't been answering Miss Granger's letters for about fourteen days either."

            "But that's not like Harry." Remus looked genuinely worried at that point.

            "That is why I sent Severus to check in on him ninety minutes ago."

            "But Dung—"

            "Mundungus has been unreachable; Severus was the only member of the Order who was available at the time. However, Severus contacted me twenty minutes ago. He said Harry didn't appear to be sane, and that the Dursleys had been magically injured. Severus has gone after him."

            "Not sane?"

            "Yes; I feared this. When Voldemort possessed Harry, he left behind a splinter of his personality, a small section. He can control that section and his influence must've overpowered Harry very quickly. That is my theory/"

            "Is Voldemort trying to lure Harry to him?"

            "I believe so, yes. I need you to go back to Grimmauld Place—"

            "I want to look for Harry," interrupted Remus firmly. 

            "I know you do, I know. However, Molly and Arthur have to be warned, for Harry may attempt to go to the Burrow because it's familiar in the recesses of his brain. You must contact Order members to stand guard at Grimmauld Place. Harry can still get in and we can't afford him entering headquarters." Remus nodded in assent, albeit reluctantly. 

            "Remus," said Dumbledore as Lupin was about to leave through the fire, "please hurry."

~

End of Chapter

A/N: Why did Dumbledore want to talk to Remus in person? Because it would've been a nasty shock for Remus to hear these things. It was nicer that way. That is the only thing I wanted to mention now.


	4. Chapter Four

Delusions: Chapter Four

I do not own Harry Potter, nor am I receiving a profit off of this.

A/N: Thanks for the abundance of reviews; I was pleasantly surprised. 

                                                                                                                                                *

            _Approaching it.__ Wanting it. Smell getting stronger. One bite, baring teeth. Blood gushing. Have to stop. Screaming, hitting. He is calling. He is impatient. Can't let myself become distracted. Must go, must find him. Master, my Master, my glorious Master. He beckons expectantly in the language of the serpent. Answer back. Hissing, running. NOW__._

_                                                                                                                                                *_

            This was getting nowhere, Snape decided, as he turned on another Muggle road that would eventually meander into another intersection. He was at a pace that was extremely similar to Potter's; he could not gain any ground at the moment, unless Potter halted, of course. Snape had taken to swearing under his breath at the uselessness of it all. He was in a dangerous position, he knew, alone in an unfamiliar place. Not only was he searching for the deranged son of one of his most hated enemies, he had placed himself in a position that had gaps for attacks. The feeling that the Dark Lord had something to do with this chase intensified. How on earth was he going to be able to fight off the Dark Lord and his legion of Death Eaters if it came to that? His anxiety was rapidly growing at that point. He turned right at a corner after consulting Potter's direction when he heard someone howling a little ways up the road. 

            "He bit my bloody arm!" Snape heard through the drunken wailing. "That madman took a hunk out of my arm!" Snape continued up the street a little further until he came to the source of the noise. A Muggle man was sprawled out under a lamppost, gripping his right arm tightly, trying to staunch the blood flow with a handkerchief. A whiskey bottle was smashed on the ground, and amber liquid was slopped down the man's front. "Hey! HEY! You there! Help me out." Snape didn't stop; the Muggle could go to a hospital if he was that injured. It was not his job to aid intoxicated persons. But then again, it wasn't his job to chase Potter around either. However, that was the most important thing at the moment. 

            He heard the man curse miserably, but Snape found something that worried him. Potter had become feral as well as insane. Droplets of blood marred the pavement, each one tinged with Potter's magical energy. Oh, things were definitely going downhill very fast. 

                                                                                                                                                *

            Lupin paced around the kitchen nervously, waiting for Tonks, Moody, and Shaklebolt to arrive so he could leave to go to the Burrow. Things were very serious; he had never seen Dumbledore look so scared in his entire life. He jerked his head upward as he heard a soft knock on the front door. He hurried down the hall to open the door; Tonks was standing in the doorway, looking extremely tired. As soon as she entered a _crack sounded trough the air and Moody was walking up the walkway. Kingsley arrived a few minutes later, and Lupin ushered him into the kitchen with the others._

            "Why did you call us here, Remus?" asked Tonks, "I wish you could've specified things. I'm so t-t-tired." She stifled a gigantic yawn. 

            "We have a problem," Remus began hurriedly, only to be interrupted by Moody.

            "What sort of problem?" Moody growled, his magical eye swiveling in all directions as he stumped over to the table and sat down on the bench. 

            "It's about Harry," Lupin continued. All three tired faces were suddenly sharper, more attentive. "Dumbledore has just contacted me." 

                                                                                                                                                *

            Voldemort sat, bathed in the darkness that blanketed his room, ecstatic. He had finally managed to draw Potter to him. Oh, yes, Potter was unable to be helped by Dumbledore or those other Mudblood lovers. In just a little while he would have the boy he had longed to kill for sixteen years. 

            It had been a question of whether he would be able to control Potter's mind at first; he believed that the magical barriers surrounding Hogwarts may have obliterated the fragment of himself that he had left behind in Potter's head. As soon as it became clear that Voldemort's interference had _not been detected and destroyed, he had not wasted any time into feeding power through the mental link he fortunately (or unfortunately, at times it was hard to tell) shared with Potter. Had anyone been watching, they'd have recognized slight behavioral issues in the weeks after Hogwarts had adjourned for a year. He would've seemed to be on edge more than usual, restless, at times, perhaps, frightened. The slowly growing energy had come at night, at Potter's most vulnerable hours of sleep, coming in the form of unsettling dreams. It was a powerfully wonderful feeling knowing that he was making Potter's life hell after the thirteen years he had suffered in Albania. And now… now the plan was realized. Potter would come to him quite willingly. Voldemort could then easily peruse through glimpses of Potter's thoughts, using his Occlumency skills, of course. It didn't matter if Potter had landed Death Eaters in prison; it was a small price to pay, and besides, Azkaban could be broken into effortlessly. And after Potter had served what little use he had, he would be disposed of. Oh, Potter's blood would flow into the absorbent ground, and the hope of a reoccurrence of the events that took place on October the thirty-first, 1981 would be dashed. Then the only one left to stop him would be Dumbledore. Although a powerful wizard, Dumbledore had not managed to defeat him in the past, and even though Voldemort did not dare, at the present time, to invade Hogwarts, he was quite sure that Dumbledore would not become an extremely threatening figure. _

            Voldemort broke his musings for a moment, only to hail Lestrange. "Bellatrix," he said quietly in that hissing, high-pitched voice of his. 

            "Yes, Master." She approached and fell into a bow, only to straighten up seconds later.

            ""I want you to go to the edge of the forest. Look for Potter."

            "Harry Potter, Master?" Bellatrix's gaunt face was confused, but she realized her error, and terror swept over her features. "Forgive me, Master, I did not mean to contradict you."

            Voldemort did not acknowledge her accidental questioning of his order. "Yes. I daresay he'll be coming soon. And we naturally have to meet him as grandly as we have done before."  
            Bellatrix bobbed her head readily, though still obviously perplexed. "As you wish, Master," she said, bowed again, and turned to leave. As soon as she had departed fully, Voldemort allowed himself to express his jubilation by laughing. The streaming, endless sound scared birds from the trees and they soared through the ominous night. 

                                                                                                                                                *

            _Where am I? What's happening? Someone help me! Help! Let me out! HELP!! HELP ME, PLEASE!!! __Someone__ please __help__me…_

                                                                                                                                                                                                                        *

End of chapter

A/N: Boring chapter, I know. This is sort of a transition; I hope the next chapters will start to escalate into the climax.


	5. Chapter Five

Delusions- Chapter Five

I do not own Harry Potter, nor am I receiving a profit off of this. 

A/N: This might be the last chapter I update for a while. I will not have access to a computer from August 1st to the 21st. Don't think I've stopped writing this; I haven't. The sixth chapter will probably just be a little late in coming. 

*

_Master.__ Oh, my Master wishes me to halt. To wait for a woman. He's joyful I have come. To help him. My wonderful Master deserves me. He needs me. He can use me. To kill his enemies, perhaps. To show him knowledge he knows not. To take him places he cannot go. _

*

Lupin stopped his short narration with a growing feeling of nervousness in his stomach. Harry, the last person who reminded him of happier days, may soon be dead or evil. He had just lost Sirius; he couldn't stand to grieve for another person he cared for. 

"Bloody hell," breathed Tonks after a few moments silence. 

"How does Dumbledore reckon we're to get him sane again?" Moody growled, his normal eye narrowed in concentration as his vivid blue eye moved madly.

"He didn't say," replied Lupin. "I don't think he's gotten that far yet." 

"What are we supposed to do if he comes here?" questioned Tonks. 

"I don't know. Try not to hurt him maybe? I haven't a clue to what we are talking about," suggested Shacklebolt in his slow, deep voice. 

"I need to go to the Burrow," Lupin said, "Dumbledore isn't sure where Harry may be heading."

"Go, then," said Moody shortly. 

"We'll keep watch here," Kingsley said calmly, yet there was a shadow of worry hidden in his dark face. Lupin nodded and quickly walked out the door that led to the kitchen and exited the house. He Disapparated as soon as he had left Number 12, Grimmauld Place, wondering how he would wake Molly or Arthur without alerting the entire household. He walked up the pathway that led to the Weasleys's house, glancing at his aging watch. It was nearing two in the morning, he noticed with an inexplicable feeling of desperation. He quickened his pace and noticed a single light in the window of a downstairs room in the Burrow. He made his way towards the back of the house; someone was in the kitchen. It was Molly, drinking what seemed to be a cup of tea. He knocked on the back door lightly, watching her furrow her eyebrows in confusion through the window in the door. He knocked again and saw her stand up and walk over to a window. She saw Lupin standing there and immediately opened the door. 

"Remus, what's the matter?" Her kindly face showed traces of surprise. 

"Molly, I know it's late, but can you go get Arthur? You both need to hear this." The look of befuddlement grew more pronounced but she nodded and ascended the creaking staircase quietly, coming down with a disheveled but alert Arthur.

"Remus," greeted Arthur seriously.

"Something is terribly wrong," Lupin said immediately.

*

Snape wiped sweat off of his brow as he continued at his pace. The exhaustion was getting to him, helped by the lack of sleep he had had the previous week. He couldn't keep this up much longer, he decided as he checked that he was on the right path. If Potter didn't stop soon, well… Snape cursed under his breath again. Damn that Potter! He was always causing trouble! He turned onto a worn dirt path that seemed to be leading to a grouping of trees. Snape swore again; was he going to need to navigate through a forest? He neared the end of the dirt path and then halted in surprise. Potter was standing at the edge of the woods, still as the night air around him. Approaching cautiously, Snape found his brain empty of any plan it may've harbored

 "Well, well, well, look what we have here." Snape twirled around to find Bellatrix Lestrange standing just behind him. "The traitor has followed Potter." Snape irrationally looked around for something—anything to aid him against what he was facing. The only thing he saw was a twig, and how was that going to protect him from an armed Death Eater? "Aw, wook at the widdle baby," she said, her amusement evident in her voice, "I'm sowwy, widdle baby, are you scarwd? _Stupefy!!_" Snape had no time to dodge the red beam that hurtled towards him. Watching as her spell hit him in the midriff, Bellatrix chuckled as he fell over, stunned. 

"What am I to do with you?" she murmured to herself as she circled Harry. He looked at her with unblinking scarlet eyes. "Will you follow me?" Internally, Bellatrix scolded herself. What a stupid question. However—

"I will," hissed Harry, "If you will take me to Master." Bellatrix started before grinning evilly. 

"Perfect," she said. "Come."

*

"_Ennervate_." Voldemort stared distastefully at Snape as he arose. Snape blinked once to gain his bearings, and then stared at his old master. Voldemort was pleased to notice the fear in his eyes and then stood so he towered over his former servant. 

"I tired you, didn't I Severus," he began, "You decided it would be better to join Dumbledore and his Mudblood loving followers. Thought you would help him by spying on me. Did you really think I wouldn't find out? I have my ways, Severus." Snape said nothing but stood still, paling from what Voldemort could see in the moonlight. 

"He's not here to help you now. I doubt he even knows where we are. And now you will find out what sort of punishment I give to double-crossers. Pain, followed by a long, suffering death will be appropriate, I think. It will be entertaining to observe. Wormtail!" A short, rat-like man crept out from behind the shadows.

"Y-yes, M-m-master?" The man called Wormtail gave Snape a terrified look before his eyes flitted back to Voldemort. 

"Do you have your dagger, Wormtail?" 

"I d-do, M-master."

"Come here." Voldemort said a spell and invisible ropes tied Snape to a nearby tree, leaving his left arm oddly unbound. "Cut off his left arm at the elbow."

"W-what, M-master?" 

"Do not question me, Wormtail," Voldemort warned as Snape gazed at him, his heart beating twice the normal rate. "His arm still bears my Dark Mark, and I no longer consider him a Death Eater. Do it now." Wormtail paused for a second, pulled his dagger out of his robes, and moved towards Snape. With one last look at Voldemort, Wormtail kneeled down and yanked Snape's arm toward him.

"Do it slowly now, Wormtail." Wormtail nodded slightly, and the dagger pierced Snape's skin.

It was agony. The blade was dull, and Wormtail moved it slowly back and forth, as though he was carving a chicken. Snape's blood flowed heavily to the ground, splattering in the dirt. Snape could not stifle his pained scream and it cut through the summer's air. All the while, Voldemort laughed in the background. Wormtail hit bone after what seemed like and eternity and withdrew the dagger from Snape's skin. He brought it upward and then, with one swift stroke, severed Snape's arm. It dropped heavily to the ground and Snape heard Voldemort whisper a spell that stopped the blood flow before he slumped backwards onto the tree, unconscious with the pain. 

*

End of chapter.

A/N: Well, this has got to be one of the most violent chapters I have ever written.


	6. Chapter Six

Delusions- Chapter Six

I do not own Harry Potter, nor am I receiving any sort of profit from this.

A/N: This took quite a bit to come out, and I apologize. It took me awhile to decide what I wanted to do in this chapter.

~

            _I have rejoined my master, the one who will cure my bloodlust, who will help me destroy and kill and maim and drink and devour. I long for the warm, metallic taste of blood on my tongue; I deeply desire its warmth traveling down my throat. And Master will help me, he has told me this in his hissings, the language echoing throughout my head faintly, always there, always guiding me. His power is the bane of my existence; his evil is the thing that sustains me so thoroughly. Yet… yet I can feel him__ fighting. He has almost disappeared from this body, but his inner impressions remain lightly etched in my thoughts. He is struggling, but I must not let him win. He will not conquer me. He will remain imprisoned forever, until the day I finally manage to erase all traces of him or until the day I die myself._

~

            Harry did not know where he was or why he felt so disconnected from everything. Silence pressed heavily over his ears, and the air was so thick, he felt himself gasping silently for breath. He thought he was suspended in some sort of magical solution for some reason; he could feel nothing solid under his feet. Yet he could not look, couldn't even manage to incline his head a fraction of an inch. Wherever he was, whatever he was in, it did not allow him to freely move. The substance around him grasped him ceaselessly, and though his mind was blissfully blank at times, fragmented thoughts slowly drifted across. Was this a dream? It was unlike anything he had ever known to experience. Where _was he anyway? Was this Voldemort's doing, or was this completely unrelated to him?__ These particular thoughts were, at best, unsettling, even settling on downright scary sometimes. It was true; as soon as Harry had returned to this semblance of consciousness, he had instantly panicked, screaming pleas of help that fell on deaf ears._

            It was the frantic moments such as the aforementioned that sent Harry wishing his mind would return to its unoccupied state, but that was occurring less often with the unknown passing of time. Though the thoughts were just as interrupted as they had been since he had awoken, pictures would pop randomly into his head. More often than not they were flashes of Ron or Hermione or other assorted familiar figures, but flashes of memories would burst soundlessly into his brain, vivid and descriptive. Whenever this occurred, Harry felt the slightest prick of fear, mingling with an emotion that was not his own: a growing sort of satisfaction that provoked the only physical feeling Harry had felt since he arrived. It was this that helped convinced him that Voldemort must be behind this, for the painful prickling of his scar was the thing that he could always connect with the pale-faced, scarlet-eyed dark wizard that haunted his dreams. It was this that made him struggle the most; he _needed to get out of this confinement. The question was not "how soon"? The question was "how long could he keep trying as this solitary environment slowly but surely demolished his sanity"?_

~

            His surroundings swam as Snape opened his eyes and felt the full pain of his stump of an arm. He was leaning against something rough, something he identified to be a wide tree. His physical weakness was apparent even to himself; he knew he would not be able to support himself and immediately knew why. While he was unconscious, Voldemort had been probing his brain to gain pictures of wanted information. Mentally, Snape felt drained and that, coupled with his physical exhaustion, was the reason he had use the remaining energy he had to concentrate on where exactly he was. Vaguely, he noticed himself to be in some sort of clearing, surrounded by trees with overlapping roots, the darkness looming dangerously overhead. A miniscule amount of silvery moonlight had penetrated the leaves of the canopy directly above him. The light shone directly onto him, as though he had been positioned carefully so he would not be able to fully see what was lurking in the shadows. He moved his unharmed arm slowly, the only indication, apart from his opened eyes, that he was indeed aware.

            "Ah, the little spy has finally awoken," said a high-pitched voice that Snape immediately recognized as Voldemort's. He was obscured by darkness, giving a more sinister impression. Snape softly moaned incomprehensibly; he could not think of an answer to this particular remark.

            "Do you realize now what you have done to yourself, Snape? Did it not occur to you that I would not kill you instantly? You deserve the pain, for you pledged your unwavering faith towards me. Yet it wavered, did it not? You ran to Dumbledore, the Mudblood lover, scared as you could be. You repented, you gave him invaluable information. Have you nothing to say?" At the silence, he continued. "You have tested me and I will rise to the occasion. I can make the remainder of you life a living hell, and I plan to do so, with the help of the faithful ones. Those whom you betrayed. Yes, Dumbledore will be sent your blood drenched remains with the knowledge that I know have Potter, his most needed trump card. Will you embrace your death, or will you fear it? I must know." Still, Snape said nothing, and this seemed to amuse Voldemort greatly; he began to chuckle shrilly.

            "My, my, let us see if I can get an answer out of you. _Crucio!" Snape had felt this curse many times as punishment for his incompetence, yet each time it was administered on him it seemed to hurt worse. The power behind those words seemed to have increased the intensity of the curse. The customary feeling attacked at full force, and Snape could disconnectedly hear his own voice howling hoarsely in pain. The invisible knives were white hot, they dug insistently at his skin, he wanted out, and he wanted to die… And then it stopped._

            "Now, we don't want to have to do that again, do we?" Voldemort's disembodied voice drifted through the air and Snape averted his head in answer. "Have you forgotten your manners, traitor?" Voldemort continued, the prominent indication of amusement had diminished in his voice. "Has your absence dulled your mind? Answer me!"

            "No," Snape said weakly, raising his eyes almost defiantly to the direction in which he was hearing his old master taunt.

            "And I see you haven't lost your spunk either. I suppose that would be good if the situation wasn't so grim. I regret to say that I will have to leave you traitor, for watching your continued torture would be so _entertaining. However, I am sure Bellatrix will do a sufficient job. Oh, and don't worry; we won't kill you yet."_

~

End of chapter

A/N: It's the same word-count as usual, yet it seems shorter than normal. Oh well.


	7. Chapter Seven

Delusions- Chapter Seven

I do not own Harry Potter, nor am I receiving a profit from this. 

A/N: Long wait for this, I know…

~

_He is giving me my instructions. Master… Master wants me to go to the secret place. The hiding place. He cannot go in without my help; it is too well guarded. With Master's powers guiding my wand, they will not be able to resist. They will fall dead at my feet, and the force opposing my Master will become weaker and weaker. And we will triumph over all. **Stop it, let me out, who are you? Let me out, damn you! LET ME OUT!! **He is struggling. He is strong. I must fight, I must fight._

~

Voldemort surveyed his prize with pride. Glittering scarlet eyes peered back at him, his eyes. Eyes that had changed through magical transformations that had been deemed to hard to attempt. But Voldemort had been the exception to the rules for a long time. He eyed Potter for a long moment, recognized the insane glint in his eyes. Smiling slightly, he waved his hand a few inches and unfurled his fingers to their full extent. He was still watching, amused, as the scarlet iris of Potter's eyes flickered back to their original bright green. 

"What?" Harry gasped croakily, glancing wildly around the clearing. His eyes flooded with terror as they centered on Voldemort, but Potter's face set itself into a defiant expression, his hand snapping to his wand. He had just pulled it out of his right pocket by his fingertips when Voldemort disarmed him. The wand flew lazily in an arc and landed at Voldemort's feet. 

"Ah, ah, ah, Potter. We can't have that, now, can we?" Voldemort was scolding him as though he would chastise a child. Harry was breathing heavily, and he clenched his fists uselessly. Without his wand, he found himself helpless. "You won't need this; I just want to—what's the phrase? Oh, yes. Why don't we have a little 'one-on-one'?" He picked the fingerprint smudged wand from the ground and placed it in his own pocket.

"What do you want?" Harry said quietly, his voice powerful with hatred.

"You're hiding things, Potter. Your mind is privy to my intricate thoughts, but I know nothing of your secrets. You can penetrate places I cannot and you are therefore useful. And I will use you to your extent and dispose of you as I intended to fifteen years ago."

"How?" Harry's voice was harshly accusatory. "What are you doing to me?" 

"My, my, your powers of deduction are weak tonight, Potter. You know I can possess things; I've told you this and you've experienced it firsthand."

"But when you possessed me… when you possessed me, it hurt. It hurt until I wanted to die. Now, now…"

"I, as I am now, am not controlling you. Do use your common sense. Snakes obey me, and Nagini… you do remember my snake, do you not? She has powers that I alone know about, that I alone control. It is her spirit that controlled you five minutes ago. She obeys me faithfully, and she is strong. You do realize it's impossible to try and escape? You will waste you energy fighting it. And as you are trapped inside your own mind, she will fulfill my demands. She can enter Dumbledore's hiding place, because she knows what you know when she possesses you. Dumbledore will not hurt you, and his followers will not harm you." Voldemort's mirthless laughter filled the clearing, making the sparse hairs on Harry's neck stand. 

"Why are you telling me this? Why didn't you just leave me in there?"

"Because, Potter, although Nagini can use your knowledge, she cannot tell anyone what you keep in your mind. I wish to ask you something, something she could not answer. Tell me, Potter, do you know the contents of that particular prophecy I was seeking?" Voldemort heard a sharp intake of breath, but Potter's eyebrows simply knotted rebelliously. 

"I won't tell you." Voldemort knew that he was withholding the information not because it contained anything that would put him in more harm than he was presently in but because it would incense his captor. "Kill me, because I won't tell."

"I thought you might think like that, Harry, so I have an offer. Tell me and I will set Severus Snape free. If you don't, I shall kill him in front of you; I will make sure you can hear the agony I give him in his final moments. Decide, Harry. Will you willingly keep a prophecy from me to kill the man who followed you into my lair, who risked his life? You hate him and he hates you, but he did not leave you to me alone. For whatever reason, whether it was for selfish purposes or not, he followed." Voldemort paused to allow the words to penetrate fully. "I will allow you one hour to think on it, Harry Potter, while confined in your body. Choose wisely, for there are no second chances."

~

"How can you say we should stay here?!" Ron was standing with both freckled hands palm down on the kitchen table of Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place, as though he wished to push it into the ground. "We don't know what You-Know-Who is doing to him, maybe we could find him…"

"You don't realize what you are saying, Ron. We have no idea where You-Know-Who is hiding. There are a million possibilities," said Mr. Weasley warily.

"There has got to be something we can do!"

"The only thing we can do now is to wait here—"

"If you think I can just sit here—I can't do that."

"You won't help Harry any by getting yourself into danger, Ron, you know that." Ron hung his head, pale and shaking, defeated after the twenty minutes he had spent arguing his point. His hair was still disheveled from sleep—the four Weasleys who had been at the Burrow had immediately relocated to headquarters for safety reasons, and Mr. Weasley had taken it upon himself to tell Ron why exactly they had had to live their home. Arthur didn't think he had ever seen his son so defeated as he did then, staring into Ron's face.

"Can I owl Hermione, then? Shouldn't we go get her?"

"Professor Dumbledore does not think she is in immediate danger," Mrs. Weasley said as she entered the room. "We've just talked to him in the fire."

"But if he could go to the Burrow, couldn't he go find her?!"

"He's never been to her house; You-Know-Who wouldn't risk sending him there."

"And, no, you cannot send her a letter," Mr. Weasley continued heavily. "Interceptions."

"So we're supposed to leave her there with no clue at all?" Anger was steadily creeping back into Ron's face. 

"For the moment we are following Dumbledore's instructions. We need to trust in his judgement." A knock suddenly sounded at the door, signifying the entrance of more recruited Order members. Ron stared at his parents for a long time before he left the room, trudging through the hall.

~

End of chapter

A/N: Mostly dialogue in this one—urgh! I can't write Ron and the Weasleys. And Harry, come to think of it…  


	8. Chapter Eight

Delusions- Chapter Eight

I do not own Harry Potter, nor am I receiving a profit from this. 

A/n: Just to let you readers know, I have slightly revised all the chapters, except two, prior to the writing of this. I just wanted to fix some things I had brought up but no longer liked and the usage of the Floo network in the Dursleys' house (I stupidly forgot that it was no longer connected). 

~

          _Wait, Master says, his voice laced with jubilance. He wants something from the boy and believes it will be achieved if he remains trapped. Master is very pleased, that is good. Very happy with me. He knows his plan is coming to fruition and that I was the missing piece. The one who was the difference between victory and defeat. We will win, and may those in our path quake with fear._

~

          It was dark and dank, different than before. Harry gazed around in a befuddled sort of way, trying to squelch the despair that was multiplying in his body. It was weird to now be aware of his body, being entombed in his head. Harry didn't quite know if he was in a sort of physical place inside his head—a sort of holograph, perhaps? Smelling the air delicately, Harry almost gagged. A stench of defecation and bile reached his nose, powerful and disgusting. The quiet titter of a faraway rat sounded faintly through the room. Something skittered over Harry's hand, which was in something unpleasantly slimy. His Gryffindoric bravery kept him from yelling out loud, but his legs were shaking too hard to support his weight. He was surrounded by four close walls of grimy brick, cracks and holes marring the surface. He was sitting on a cool cement floor, grime collecting on his clothes and something wet seeping through the fabric. Voldemort's words came back to haunt him with the choice they had described. He could not choose—was it better to save a man while giving secret information, or to see a man killed for keeping said information quiet. Nothing he could think of justified either option. 

          Something pulsed behind the wall, cracking the brick further. A rounded protuberance pushed its way through the dirt, and something rose beneath him, twitching slightly. He tried to move, but the space was too tiny. A small, purple tentacle poked its way through the holes and crawled along the wall, thickening with every inch, making the bricks crumble. Five emerged in all—one for each wall and one for the floor. 

          _…Best you can do?_ A familiar voice echoed through Harry's head. "No," Harry said in an anguished whisper. "_Stop _it." _Wands out, d'you reckon? Not Harry! Please—I'll do anything— Bow to death, Harry. …but your mother needn't have died… she was trying to protect you. Harry lowered his head into his dirty hands, gripping his ears tightly. He whimpered softly, and the living ropes on the walls shifted from their resting place. Harry shut his eyes and pictures burst into view on his eyelids. They flickered before becoming vivid. Cedric dead on the ground… A hundred Dementors swarming towards him, stretching out their scabbed hands with rattling breaths… Sirius—Sirius falling through the archway… Everything blurred into one color before another set of pictures became apparent. Hermione, her head separted from her body, surrounded by puddles of sticky blood… Ron, his eyes gouged out, unseeingly staring to the heavens as blood pumped out of his body… Hagrid, his heart ripped savagely out of his chest cavity, a spear jutted through his nose… Luna cut cleanly in half, her two parts three feet from each other, her protuberant eyes blank… And Neville, his intestines hanging out of a gaping hole in his stomach, twisted and twirled into something that look like slick spaghetti, his teeth red and stained with the blood that was trailing thickly down the sides of his mouth. _Your fault, Harry, all your fault._A scream tore through his mouth. _

          The tentacles moved from their stationary position on the wall and shot towards Harry. They wrapped around his arms and legs, shocking him with bursts of electricity. He screamed louder. They let go of him, dropping him to the ground with a thud. "Not real," he told himself faintly. "This is just—just my imagination." The memories of those pictures then came back and he emptied the acid in his stomach onto the floor, dry-heaving for about two minutes after that. Vomit spattered onto his clothing, mixing with the slime and blood that had already accumulated. And for the umpteenth time in his life, he wanted to die.

~

          He didn't understand. He _never understood what Harry went through; just that he seemed to get all the attention that he, Ron, craved. He never considered what his best friend exactly went through. And this was a horrible eye-opener. Yes, he had realized that Harry had had a horrible time last year. However, Ron didn't see the full extent of the pain. For him it was surreal. He had not seen the life ripped from Cedric's body. A lump rose in his throat, making it hard to swallow. He could hear the faint, urgent whispers of Order members below as they surveyed the situation. Ron could not see anything helping. Harry was lost to him. _

          A faint knock sounded on the door but Ron did not acknowledge. Still, his mother let herself in, shutting the door behind her with a soft click. "Ron?" Her voice was quiet and shaking, full of sympathy and fear. 

          "What?" Ron answered coarsely, running a hand through his hair.

          "I know this is hard, Ron, but you must—you must know that we're doing everything we can at the moment."

          "Yes, we're doing _loads."_

          "Ron—"

          "WE'RE JUST SITTING HERE WHILE HARRY COULD BE DYING OR—OR BEING TORTURED!"

          "Well what do you want us to do, Ron? We have no idea where You-Know-Who's layer is. Even Dumbledore isn't sure of the specifics of the situation. We haven't heard from Professor Snape either. Everything is very worrying, and I know you're scared." 

          Ron turned back to the window. "Leave me alone." 

          Mrs. Weasley strode across the room and put a hand on Ron's shoulder, which he shook off. She retreated, hurt.

          "Stop it, Ron!" she exclaimed shrilly. "Do you think that I don't care about Harry? Do you think I'm not out of my mind? You can't—" Her voice faltered for a moment. "Just stop, Ron. Just stop." She left wearily, and Ron dropped his head to his knees, gripping his carrot hair. 

~

          "He will _not be allowed back in my house! I've put up with him long enough!"_

          "Mrs. Dursley, I fear you do not understand. Harry was not in his right mind when—"

          "I don't care! He's a danger to my family! My son could have died!"

          "My reasoning, Mrs. Dursley, is solid. He needs your protection." Dumbledore's voice had grown in power, making him sound very formidable. Petunia, however, did not falter. 

          "My freak sister's son can _die_ for all I care. She never did anything for me. You cannot threaten me!" 

          "You'll find that I can, Mrs. Dursley." Her voice rose indignantly, but Dumbledore stood up. "I feel we cannot talk properly until you have calmed down. I will ask Madame Pomfrey for a soothing potion."

          "I am not taking any of your _magical_—"

          "Mrs. Dursley, I am afraid it is not your decision to make."

~

End of chapter

A/N: Bit gory, I say.


	9. Chapter Nine

Delusions: Chapter nine 

I don't own Harry Potter, nor am I receiving a profit from this story.

A/N: Thanks to all the reviewers—without you, this wouldn't have existed.

~

Strong waves of energy violently hit the trees and leaves showered down. Harry Potter had escaped from his mental prison, liberated with the festering pain that forever dwelled inside of him. He couldn't endure it any longer. The wish for death swelled. His hands gripped his head uselessly, clawing through his hair as though he was trying to force something out of his skull. A scream of despair, of terror that was utterly unable to be described. He knew one thing—he needed out. And unable to form a plan in his head, he did one thing on pure instinct. He ran. 

            He blundered through the low-hanging branches and across dried pine needles, not knowing where he was headed. He just needed to get away from the _evil that permeated this area before it forced him to see… He couldn't hear anything but the stillness of the earth around him, didn't wonder as to why he was not being chased. And he ran into a clearing, tripping on a tree root that was jutting from the dirt. His hands splayed and bleeding, his eyes fearful and his mind useless, Harry Potter stared at the prone form of the man on the ground. _

            He was recognizable, but Harry found he could not think. Everything was telling him to get away—except one sliver of thought that couldn't quite push through the jumbling horror that had so quickly infected his brain. He could think of nothing, but a part of him rose in loathing. He didn't like this man. Indecision was born—leave him here or help him? The latter wasn't a desirable course of action to Harry, but a strong feeling had ignited, one that wanted him to grab the man, to run with him. Instinct, perhaps?

            Something familiar caught Harry's eye—a mirror? Its familiarity caused something to fall into place. It was sticking out of a pocket in Snape's clothing, drawing Harry to it, for it looked like Sirius's mirror. The influence of the snake inside of him faltered at the thought of Harry's godfather, and Harry found himself able to think a little clearer. Although part of him was still demanding he _run_, he stepped forward and pulled the mirror into his hands. What to say to it? Not Sirius's name, for that had not worked before… Harry cast his mind around a bit, finally pulling up the name: Dumbledore. And he leaned right down close to the reflective surface and said, "Albus Dumbledore." The glass shimmered a little and suddenly Dumbledore's face came into view, surprised and… was that a tinge of fear in his face?

            "Harry," he breathed.

            "Professor Dumbledore?"" To Harry's great dislike, he found his voice wobbly. Meanwhile, the burning sensation of hate was growing in his stomach, hatred from the snake towards Dumbledore.

            "Where are you, Harry?"

            "I-I don't know. Some sort of forest. Snape is just _lying here. I think he's hurt badly." For the slightest moment, Harry's face morphed into that of the snake's but it died down quickly._

            "Harry, listen to me. If you stay connected, I can turn your mirror into a portkey." Harry nodded and Dumbledore spoke again. "It will take fifteen minutes for the connection to come through. Keep the mirror hidden if someone comes, Harry, and _don't let go of it_, or it will disconnect!" There was definitely an undertone of fear in his voice then. The snapping of branches in the distance foretold an immediate arrival—Harry snuck the mirror into his left pocket, hiding the top of it and his hand underneath Dudley's immense shirt. 

            "You are more resilient than I thought, Mr. Potter." Voldemort. "I must admit that I had hoped you could've been more help than this. No matter. If my snake can't drive you insane, I shall kill you." Harry's hand closed on the familiar coolness of his wand; as Voldemort drew his, Harry whipped it out, still keeping a firm hold on the silent mirror in his other pocket. They both cast curses at the same time, only Voldemort deflected his towards a tree. 

            "I will not fall for the same trick twice, Potter." His voice was low, menacing. 

            "Do you expect me to just stand around while you try to kill me?" Harry found himself bargaining for time—he needed ten minutes at least. 

            "Your defenses will soon falter, Potter. You are weak from your _imagined ordeal."_

            "Stupefy!" A red light shot from the end of Harry's wand but was easily dodged.

            "Ah, Potter, surely you can do better than that? _Avada__ Kedavra!" Harry, who had been expecting the attack, managed to fling himself to the ground, sheltered by two tree trunks. Pieces of splintered wood flew through the sky. "Now, now, Potter. Why do you always insist on playing games with me?"_

            Harry darted to his right, still shielded by trees. Seven minutes, just seven minutes left. "REDUCTO!" A nearby tree exploded in a flurry of splinter, the sharp wood bits imbedding themselves into the back of Harry's arms, as he had flattened himself into a lying position, his arms over his neck. 

            "Come out, come out, wherever you are…" Harry crawled another ten feet as Voldemort entered the thicket of trees. He was coming closer… "You cannot hide forever, Potter!" He was trying to lure a response from Harry, and Harry would not allow it. He moved faster, trying to keep as quite as possible. Another tree exploded due to the Reductor curse, but Harry didn't bother to stop as he was pelted with more wood shavings. Three minutes. 

            Harry paused as he advanced. Snape wasn't far off. Another tree was demolished but a bigger dilemma was unfurling in Harry's rapidly clearing head. Snape—he had followed Harry. Would he, Harry… could he just leave Snape here, here to die at the hands of his old master? Yes, Snape had always hated Harry, and the feelings were mutual…. But… One minute. To get Snape meant to leave the cover of the trees, to enter the clearing. He was not aware of making a decision, just of springing to his feet and running to Snape, pulling the mirror out as he went. As Voldemort exited the cluster of annihilated trees, a euphoric grin alighted on his face. Harry placed one part of the mirror on Snape's shoulder, keeping a firm grip on it himself.

            "Now, Potter, you die." Voldemort didn't notice, or seem to care of, the actions Harry had just done. _Let this work… Please let it work…_Voldemort raised his wand hand.

            "_AVADA—" But before the incantation was completed, Harry felt the tug behind his navel. The last thing he heard was Voldemort's infuriated scream, the prone body of Snape traveling with him. He was going back… back. A rush of powerful emotions overtook him as he hit a stone floor. Falling victim to his mental exhaustion, he didn't hear Dumbledore's relieved exclamation._

~

            Harry awoke to a familiar scene—the hospital wing—and to the familiar face of Dumbledore. "Ah," he said, "you are awake."

            "Professor Dumbledore?" Harry's voice was rough, unused. He fumbled for his glasses and put them on, his view of the room cleared. He looked at Dumbledore again and immediately saw the weariness, the fear, shining in his headmaster's eyes. "What's going on? Is his snake… is it going to… will he force me to come to him again?"

            "Relax, my dear boy. The snake's influence has been eliminated."

            "But—how?"

            "Easily enough. I hope you'll pardon me for the intrusion, but I daresay it was necessary. I probed you mind with Occlumency, and was able to find, and destroy, the remnants of the snake's control over you."

            "But how did it get there in the first place?"

            "I theorize that Voldemort implanted the seed into you mind when he possessed you last."

            "I- I don't remember anything… What happened?"

            "You were forced to exit your house and come to Voldemort. That is the basic story and therefore all that you need to understand."

            "And Snape—why was he there?"

            "I asked _Professor Snape to see if you were alright. I was suspicious when you neglected to return your letters. He followed you into Voldemort's lair."_

            "But then Voldemort knows, because of me, he knows that Snape—"

            "Professor Snape believes, as do I, that Voldemort already knew. You saved his life, Harry, and you mustn't forget that."

            "But what about the Dursleys? What did I do to them?"

            "You hurt them," Dumbledore said reluctantly, "but they have been healed and there is no lasting damage."

            "And Snape? What did Voldemort do to him?"

            "Voldemort did what he felt was a justified punishment. Professor Snape has lost his arm, but it has been replaced. What you should worry about, Harry, is the damage caused upon _yourself_."

            "But I'm not h—"

            "Physically, no. But you have suffered a terrible mental ordeal. You will need time to heal."

            "But if I turn into the snake again…"

            "Listen to me, Harry. You survived; you drove it out of your head. No lasting damage has been done. It was your _love_ that saved you yet again. You have the strength; you can beat it." And with that, Dumbledore stood and exited, leaving Harry sitting on the bed thinking of the has-beens and will-bes. 

~ 

            Dumbledore decided that it would be prudent to keep Harry in the castle for the remainder of the summer holidays, and although it wasn't boring, what with all the visitors, Harry knew that his happy times were coming short. The final battle with Voldemort replayed often in his head, as a warning to the culmination of their fighting. He saw Snape in the hall, a golden hand glittering from beneath the left arm of his robes, even apologized (to silence). And as his sixth year approached rapidly, Harry couldn't dream of what the curse of his scar would soon bestow upon him.

~

End

A/n: I mean it! This is the end of the entire story—no foreseeable sequels. I hope you liked it, but if you didn't, just remember that the first chapter was written at one in the morning and was never expected to develop into a story that spanned nine chapters.


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